"It's a very good thing to be thankful any how," said the father; "but I own I don't see why you should cry out in such rapture, when you find we are going the wrong road."
"Oh! no, no, father," returned Clara, "not the wrong road; for Kensington is the gaol of all my wishes."
"Poor thing! she is certainly distracted," thought Father Murphy. "The loss of her cousin has deprived her of her senses; but I will let her take her own way; perhaps she'll be better presently."
"Where will you like to be set down?" asked the man.
"Near the prison," cried Clara eagerly.
"Near the prison!" repeated Father Murphy, shrugging his shoulders. "Ay, ay, I was right."
Not another word was spoken till the balloon stopped and the passengers were set down: all still was dark, save a land-light that gleamed from the battlements of the prison, and showed a tall, clumsy-looking figure that marched with
